Malao shrugged. Mong reached out as if to lay a hand on Malao's shoulder and Malao took several steps back.
Mong laughed. “There's no need to be nervous. At least not until Hung can see straight again.” Mong paused and rubbed his shiny, hairless head. “Speaking of Hung, I believe you have earned the right to do what you will with the big oaf. Are you in the mood for liver soup?”
Several of the bandits gasped. One of them cried out, “You're not really going to let the boy kill Hung, are you, boss?”
“In all honesty,” Mong replied, “I hope the boy doesn't kill Hung, but it is his right. A deal is a deal. We may be bandits, but we're honorable bandits. We keep our word.” Mong looked at Malao. “So, what's it going to be, boy?”
Hung lifted his face from the dirt and glared at Malao, his eyes still crossed.
Malao's face hardened. He walked over to Hung and spoke in a shaky voice. “Roll over.”
Hung shook his head.
Mong sighed and walked over to Malao's side. He swung one enormous leg back and kicked Hung hard in the ribs with his heavy boot. “The one who defeated you fair and square said roll over. Do it. Now.”
Hung groaned and rolled over. Malao grabbed one of the pouches hanging from Hung's sash. He opened it, peeked inside, and threw it to the ground. Then he grabbed another, and another, throwing each to the ground after opening it. Malao peeked inside the next pouch and grinned. He tied the pouch to his own sash and turned to Mong.
“I will leave Hung his life and take this prize instead,” Malao said in his best grown-up voice.
Mong smiled. “Thank you, little one.”
Malao lowered his head and shrugged.
Mong knelt down to Malao's height. “I suggest you leave the area immediately, my little friend. I don't think I'll be able to stop Hung once his eyes straighten out.”
Malao looked at Mong and nodded. Mong nodded back.
Without a word, Malao leaped onto the nearest branch and headed for the treetops. He looked back to wave goodbye to Seh, but all he saw was a flash of blue silk.
The sun was still high in the sky when Malao stopped next to the stream and climbed down from the tree-tops. He squatted and cupped some cool water in his aching hands.
As he drank, Malao thought about Seh and the bandits. He hoped Seh knew what he was getting himself into. That was a rough bunch. Mong didn't seem too bad, though.
Malao scratched his head. How many times have I seen Mong at Cangzhen? he wondered. Four? Five?
Malao remembered that Mong had always come alone, but that didn't make his visits any more justified. After all, he was a bandit. A very successful bandit.
Malao couldn't believe how much gold the bandits had. He couldn't imagine where they got it, let alone what they might do with it. Even though monks weren't supposed to have an interest in material things, Malao had never been able to keep his eyes off anything made of the precious metal. It hypnotized him. Several of the pouches Hung carried had been filled with gold, and Malao had had a hard time throwing them aside. He didn't know why, but he felt he should take only one pouch from Hung, and it should be something useful.
Malao untied the pouch from his sash and sat down on the stream bank. He dumped out the contents. There was a loud CLINK! and a brief spark as a firestone and a metal strike bar collided on the firm earth. Gold was nice to look at, but these items would be a lot more comforting on chilly evenings. More important, he could use them to start a fire for cooking. That is, if he ever managed to find something to cook.
Malao rubbed his stomach. He was hungry.
What can I eat? he wondered. There wasn't going to be any fruit for many more months, and plants were just beginning to poke up through the soil. Monkeys ate things like tree buds this time of year, but that wouldn't work for him.
Frustrated, Malao stood and kicked a small pile of leaves beneath a large tree. His toes dug into something soft and slimy. He grinned.
Lunch! Malao thought. He leaned over and carefully pushed the leaves aside. His heart leaped as he uncovered a cluster of mushrooms.
All Cangzhen monks learned which plants and fruits were safe to eat, and mushrooms were no exception. Some types of mushrooms could make you sick or sleepy. Others were lethal. Great care was taken to make sure only the safe ones were served at the Cangzhen dining table. Malao was often recruited to scour the forest floor in search of mushrooms. He was confident these were not only safe, they were delicious.
In a flurry of leaves and flying dirt, Malao picked several handfuls and set them aside. Then he rounded up enough dry twigs and tinder to start a small fire with his new firestone. Once the fire was going, he found two long sticks about as big around as his little finger and carried them to the stream, along with the mushrooms.